


Licensure

by Orithain, Rina9294



Series: Reactionary POVs [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 04:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5234504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orithain/pseuds/Orithain, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rina9294/pseuds/Rina9294
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney doesn't like dogs. John is one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rodney: Licensure

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 2005.

I don’t like dogs.

I mean, I have nothing against them as a species, but personally, they just don’t do much for me, not any more. They’re too easily distracted, and they spread their affection around without a thought for how it might make a person feel. I mean, for God’s sake, you have to put a collar and a license on them to make sure they get home if they run off!

Cats now, they’re much more likable in my book. Smart, arrogant, aloof when they want to be but also capable of cuddling; cats are a perfect design. You can let them wander, but they always come home because they _remember_ where home is.

If I were an animal, I’d want to be a cat, and I’d be a damn good one; not one of those scruffy alley cats or pampered, preening lap pets. Nothing fancy, not even a pure bred; those have all the brains bred out of them. A simple calico. No, black, I’d want to be black, black with green eyes and an extra toe on one hind foot.

Forget all that superstitious nonsense about black cats being bad luck; I mean, my God, no one ever had a fit because their path was crossed by a black _dog_ , did they? A black dog... that would be Major Sheppard. Something like a lab: friendly, but a good hunter and much, much too affectionate for my good. Everyone loves labs; everyone wants to take them home, and they enjoy it.

I hate dogs; never mind that they can be warm and loving and wonderful to curl up with. It’s just, collars and licenses and all the care they take... It’s too much. I’ll get distracted or yell, and then I’ll look up, and he’ll be gone.

It. It would be gone, and no one would know where to return it.

Unless... I can’t do anything about the distraction or the yelling, but I can make damn sure he’d be returned.

I need to go talk to Holling about the leatherwork and to Castleman; he’s always fiddling around with metal.

Yes.

This is going to work.


	2. John: Resolution

I don’t know whether to kiss him or kill him.

Only Rodney McKay could inspire this welter of confusion in me. On the one hand, I like it that he wants to mark me as his. On the other hand, it’s a dog collar and tag! Shooting him wouldn’t be out of line, but I’d much rather drag him to bed.

He’s watching me, waiting to see if I’m going to punch him or walk out the door or put it on. God, I’ve never seen bluer eyes, and at the risk of nauseating myself with my own sappiness, I could drown in them.

"Rodney..." If I wasn’t already committed to him, the look of mingled fear and hope in those eyes would get me. I’d never have imagined this only a few months ago, but I want him, and he wants me too.

I just wish I knew what the engraving on this tag says.

Then again, it doesn’t really matter. I know what it means.

"Put it on for me?"


	3. John: Mutuality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collared John decides what to give Rodney.

Well, I didn’t kill him. Of course, it’s just as well I’m the senior officer in this galaxy because I’d hate to have to explain to a superior why I’m wearing a dog collar. But if he can lay claim to me, I get to do the same.

I’m just not sure how I want to do it. Matching tags would just be corny and way too high school, but I think he’d find new and terrifying ways to kill me if I suggested a tattoo.

He’s looking a little concerned now. No wonder. I’ve been sitting here staring at him in silence for a while now.

"Don’t start imagining weird calamities, Rodney. I was just thinking about something, and some of us can’t focus on two or three things at once." Ah, there he goes. I thought that would get him; he’ll tell me exactly how many things he actually can do at once in minute detail. He’s fun to listen to when he gets all wound up. I wonder if he’ll ever realize I do it on purpose and what he’ll do to me when he does. Should be interesting.

But this isn’t helping me decide... Oh. Of course.

He gave me a dog tag, so I can give him _my_ dog tags. Well, not the actual ones, of course, but I’ll bet I can get Castleman to make a damn good copy.

I’m not sure how he’ll react though. It’s kind of a statement. Oh hell, there’s only one way to find out...


	4. Rodney: Utility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are useful in different ways.

Dog tags.

He gave me dog tags.

Yes, that’s what they are: small rectangles of metal with the whole obligatory name, rank and serial number pressed in them. They even have the black rubber guard around them to keep them from jangling together.

But... dog tags.

It isn’t as if we haven’t discussed something like this as a way of identifying civilian members of off-world teams in case the worst happens and physical identification can’t be made.

He’s standing there, looking at me with that hopeful, little-boy grin on his face, and I can’t figure out why the hell he’s so excited about giving me a way to identify my dead body when...

Oh. Okay, for a genius I’m pretty damn dense. I’ve seen these before - no, not these exactly as there’s a small lump in the middle of his chest under his t-shirt. The lump that’s four inches below one made by the collar I gave him.

Sheppard, Jonathan M., USAF, and a series of numbers that’s actually close to the distance between the earth and the sun. I should have noticed this sooner; after all, I’ve had the originals hanging in my face often enough, though admittedly, I’m usually too distracted with the reason why they’re hanging there to concentrate on them.

He gave me dog tags. His smile grows as he recognizes my understanding. Now, no matter what happens, neither of us will be lost.

There’s really only one thing left to say, so I do.

"Put them on me, John. Please?"


End file.
